


every night fucks every day up/every day patches the night up

by shocked_into_shame



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty modern billy, Cell Phones, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, HarringrovePornathon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Underage Drinking, this started as a oneshot and now its a multichapter fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: Billy can't sleep. There's no comfortable position for his legs, no relief from the stifling feeling of his bedroom.He cries out to Snapchat for help. And funnily enough, one Steve Harrington responds.Modern AU





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This almost didn't happen and I wrote it ENTIRELY on my phone while listening to Lo-Fi which is why billy just listens to Lo-Fi the whole time
> 
> Let me know if you enjoy

Billy scrolls aimlessly through his Instagram feed, sighing and adjusting his position in bed. The little numbers in the corner of his screen taunt him. 

2:00 AM. Too damn late. 

He has to wake up for school in the morning. If he's late, he'll never hear the end of it. 

He rolls over onto his side, phone still in his hands. He blindly reaches for the pair of earbuds on his nightstand and plugs them in. It's a cliche, but he tries to listen to that Lo-Fi shit to fall asleep. Sometimes it works. Tonight doesn't seem to be one of those nights. 

He can't even sleep right. He's a fuck up. 

He’s always been a fuck up. His entire life he's been a fuck up, even when things were good. Even when he was bright eyed, hopeful - he was still a fuck up. He always seemed to get himself into trouble. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut long enough. All his life, his progress reports and report cards had screamed out: "Great student but a little chatty" or "Could use some improvement with behavior!"

That had been before his mom died. Then things went from "a little chatty" to "suspended" to - finally - "expelled."

Not that it matters anymore. He would probably never see any of those teachers again. He's trying to be better at Hawkins High. Lay low, finish his school. He's in the home stretch. 

He opens Snapchat and takes a picture of himself. It comes up dark. He sighs and toggles the front flash on. He parts his lips and takes another picture, captioning it.

_ no rest for the weary. anybody awake?  _

He chooses one of the cheesy "Hawkins" geofilters, as though he could ever be proud of being in Hawkins fucking Indiana. 

It's 2:07 AM. Lo-Fi Chill Hop plays in his ears. He isn't any sleepier. God, he could use a cigarette. Or maybe some weed. He's got to remember to talk to Tommy about where the fuck to buy in this hick town. 

He refreshes his story. No one except a few old acquaintances back in Cali have seen it. Guess everyone in Hawkins a good little egg in bed tonight. It's boring. So much about Hawkins is  _ boring _ . 

He rolls over again. He can't find a comfortable position for his legs. The room is hot and sticky and he reaches for a hair tie, fixing his long curly hair in a loose bun at the top of his head. He makes a mental note to take it out before he leaves the room in the morning. Neil would be pissed if he saw him with his hair like this. 

He can practically hear his angry tirade now. He turns up the volume on his phone, as though that will somehow drown out the voice in his head. 

He shifts and pulls the blanket up, letting his bare feet peek out at the foot of his bed. That's marginally better. Maybe if the mattress were less lumpy or the room less stifling. It's smaller than his room back home. 

_ This is your home now, son _ , the Neil voice in his head says. The volume goes up another notch. 

2:25 AM. His eyes are wide. Maybe he should turn the brightness down on his phone. Maybe he should just lock it, close his eyes, and wait to sleep.

But if he stops looking at his phone, that's when all of the thoughts seep in. He doesn't have the patience for them right now. Instead he opens Youtube. The Low-Fi is paused. He taps a DailyReddit video. 

"r/AskReddit: What's the most messed up parenting skill you've seen? (Serious replies only)." A robot voice reads story upon story of fucked up parents. It makes him feel better. Less alone. 

He starts to feel sleepy, his eyes drifting closed, until the video ends and a new one autoplays. An ad for some shitty horror movie blasts in his ears, making him jolt out of any sort of peace he had achieved. 

He huffs and rolls over. Back to the Lo-Fi. 

2:45 AM. Snapchat sends him a notification. A chat. 

From Steve Harrington. Billy's eyes widen and he lets out a little gasp.

Just thinking about Steve Harrington makes him feel some type of way. A little bit angry, because Steve doesn't care for him very much. He has made that increasingly clear. A little bit sad that he can't quite seem to make Steve  _ like _ him, no matter how much he forces himself into Steve's vicinity. 

Mostly, he feels turned on. Steve Harrington is stupidly good looking. The first time Billy saw him, dressed in a fucking  _ Supreme  _ shirt, his hair perfectly coiffed, Billy knew he was a fucking goner. 

It's dumb. He knows this. But he catches himself scrolling through Harrington's instagram sometimes. The pictures aren't particularly  _ good.  _ He isn't a  _ model _ or anything. But sometimes he posts a picture of himself smiling, head tilted to the side. Sometimes he gets someone else to take a picture for him, and he stands with hands in his pockets.

Billy doesn't tap like on the pictures. He just lurks. 

He opens the chat. He can't fucking believe Harrington is chatting him. It's just a stupid fucking Bitmoji, of a little cartoon that's apparently supposed to be  _ Steve  _ sleeping on a yellow moon. God, it's incredibly dorky. It shouldn't make him smile. He does anyway. 

He takes another picture, bites his bottom lip and makes his eyes look heavy so his eyelashes are on full display. He's been told that he's got bedroom eyes. 

It isn't everyday that Steve Snapchats him. In fact, this is a first. He's gotta make the most of it.

The picture looks good, even with his hair pulled away from his face. 

_ what are you doing awake, pretty boy?  _ He captions.

He sends it off to Steve. 

3:01 AM. Another notification. A new song fades in, and he laughs when there's a sampling of Spongebob dialogue before the beat kicks in. 

Steve:  _ don't call me that  _

He types a reply quickly.  _ why not? its the truth. ur super pretty. 😋  _

He takes a deep breath and sends it. He's probably going to fucking regret that in the morning. It's probably too close to flirting than he should dare. 

Steve is typing, his phone alerts him. He shifts his legs again and yawns. His eyes are heavy but there's too much noise in his head to try to sleep. 

Steve has sent yet another fucking Bitmoji. This time his little cartoon has his arms stretched out. Text above reads "MANY THANKS" and there's a big pile of "thank yous". 

It's so stupid. It's so fucking  _ goofy _ . It makes Billy feel special. God, that's so fucking queer. Jesus, he needs to get a grip on himself.

He types as fast as he can, thumbs flying across his screen.  _ Srsly tho. What are you doing awake?  _

Steve:  _ i could ask you the same _

Billy:  _ just cant sleep. too many thoughts in my head  _

Steve:  _ yeah i get that. I'm the same _

Billy:  _ really? I didnt even know you had thoughts in that pretty boy brain of yours  _

Steve:  _ actually fuck off 🙄 _

Billy:  _ why are you even talking to me right now?  _

Steve's reply is delayed. Billy's heart is in his throat. Finally he begins to type. 

Steve:  _ not much else to do _

Ouch. That kind of stings. He tries not to think about it too much. He types back.  _ cant think of anything better to do than talk to someone you dont even like??  _

Steve sends back another goddamn Bitmoji. Dudes got a problem. This time it's just his little cartoon shrugging.

He chews his bottom lip and types again.  _ that cartoon doesn't even look like you you should send me a picture of YOU _

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thinks. He's so fucking stupid. He needs to go to bed before he fucks up any more than he's already done. 

3:25 AM. Steve sent a photo! his phone proudly declares. His mouth gapes. No fucking way. 

It's a close up selfie of Steve. His hair is askew and his lips are parted slightly, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy. His head is propped up by a checkered pillow and he isn't wearing a shirt. Billy can't see chest or anything, just the faintest hint of a collarbone, a dusting of moles along his shoulder. 

Steve's captioned:  _ why are you talking to ME when you clearly dont like me either _

Billy's treading on thin ice here. He presses one finger to the lock button and the other to the volume. Click - screenshot captured. He knows Steve is alerted. 

Steve chats him almost instantly:  _ whyd you take a screenshot of that, you dick _

Steve:  _ seriously wtf is your problem man _

Steve:  _ honestly fuck you  _

Billy sighs and closes Snapchat. He turns on Do Not Disturb and just like that anything that Steve sends can't possibly reach him. He opens up his gallery instead. 

The screenshot is the first picture. He taps it and Steve's face fills the screen. God, he's stunning. His doe eyes stare at Billy. 

3:47 AM. Billy's stomach clenches. His dick swells slightly in his pajama pants. He stares at the little picture of Steve, taken just for him. 

Steve's  _ shirtless _ in this picture. Billy's mind fills in the blanks. Thinks about what it'd look like if Steve let him see  _ more.  _ If he had tried to be sexy for him. 

He gasps and moves a hand down to the front of his pajamas. He shivers when his palm makes contact with his hardening cock, even through the soft fabric of his pants. 

There's a twinge of guilt somewhere in the mix here. Steve didn't send him this picture with the intention of making him want to jack off. He  _ knows  _ that. He's always been a fuck up. Feels like a fuck up right now. 

Even still, his dick is hard and demanding attention between his legs. He rolls onto his back, holding his phone close to his face. So close that he can't see anything but the picture of Steve. So close that he can't see his hand creep under the waistband of his pants. 

He strokes his cock slowly, rubbing at the head slightly on the up stroke. He pretends it's Steve touching him, Steve with his doe eyes and his moles and his stupid fucking Bitmojis. 

His thighs begin to shake as he brings himself closer to the edge, panting as he teases the slit at the head and pumps a little harder, a little faster. 

" _ Steve _ ," he breathes, and this is dangerous territory. He knows this. He keeps stroking.

His toes are curling. His thighs are shaking under his blanket. A new song fades in. And as he's pushed over the edge, spilling into his own hand, his breath catches and his muscles clench and all he can think is  _ steve steve steve.  _

He huffs and grabs a baby wipe from his nightstand, cleans himself off blearily. Sleep is coming to him, now. He will get 2 solid hours. Better than nothing. 

A part of him is afraid about what Steve will say come tomorrow. But sleep is pulling him down. He will have to think of something to say to Steve while he showers in the morning. 

The Lo-Fi plays on. His eyes close and he drifts off, blissful and satiated and thinking about  _ Steve Harrington. _

__


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! i've decided to continue this story. it will probably be 4 chapters long in total. let's get as much happy stupid fic in before season 3 decimates us all

When Billy wakes up at his 6:15 alarm, he groans and hits his clock hard with his palm. He’s fucking exhausted. It feels like he was hit by a truck. And then the memories of the night before wash over him. Fuck. He unplugs his phone and swings his legs over the side of his bed, feeling the pads of his feet touch the cool floor. He dares to take his phone off of Do Not Disturb. 

A few more messages from Steve filter in. All with the same basic message of  _ fuck you _ and  _ why did you take a screenshot?  _ and  _ why aren’t you responding you ass!!  _

He takes a deep breath and locks his phone. He doesn’t have time for this. He takes his hair out of his top knot, feeling his curls cascading down to his shoulders. He shoves one particularly annoying lock behind his ear and stands up. 

When he makes his way to the shower, no one else in the house seems to be out and about. It’s so quiet you could probably hear a mouse take a shit, he thinks with a smile. That’s fine. He prefers it that way. 

Under the hot spray of the shower he tries to think about how the hell he’s going to explain last night when Steve inevitably confronts him about it. Nothing comes to mind. He thinks so hard about it that he barely pays attention to what he’s doing and very nearly washes his hair with Axe body wash. That would have been fucking  _ great. _

He continues to think as he brushes his teeth and dries his hair. He glances at his phone on the counter, and luckily there are no new messages. As he picks out his outfit, he tries his hardest to  _ not _ give a shit about what he looks like. But then he keeps thinking about what Steve looks like, and suddenly he’s picking things out meticulously. A black muscle tank that shows off his arms. Skin tight grey skinny jeans with rips at the knees. His favorite necklace dangles down his chest. 

By the time he’s dressed and ready it’s 6:45 and Maxine is eating a bowl of Cheerios in the kitchen. Neil and Susan are talking about taxes or some shit. It’s exhausting. Thankfully, though, there is a pot of hot coffee sitting there in the carafe. “Thanks for the coffee, Susan,” he mutters as he pours himself a mug full. 

The mug’s from Disneyland. He tries not to think of California as he sips his black coffee way too quickly. He burns his tongue and hisses. Neil glances up at him and narrows his eyes. As though Billy sighing in the kitchen is somehow an inconvenience. To Neil, his  _ existence _ is an inconvenience.

Max finishes her bowl of cereal and puts it into the sink. Her long red hair is pulled back in a French braid. “Your hair looks cute,” he deadpans. He means it, but he can’t seem too earnest about it. 

He’s been trying to be better. Within the first month of coming here, he and Max had gotten into some of the worst fights they’ve ever had. He acted like an ass to her friends. He broke her skateboard. She threatened him with a baseball bat. Long story short, they’re even now. He tries not to dwell on it. It’s been months since a blowout. He’s  _ trying _ to be better. 

“Shut up,” she murmurs back. Must’ve thought he was making fun of her. She assumes that most of the time, that people are making fun of her or laughing at her. He gets it. He was 13 once. He knows all about insecurity. He’s full of it, even now. 

“Stop making fun of your sister, Billy,” Neil says slowly, threateningly. Billy takes a deep breath. Max looks at him with guilt in her green eyes. 

She even mouths the word  _ sorry _ to him. It feels like a victory. 

* * *

Once he’s dropped Max off at the middle school and watched her walk over to her friends - all  _ boys _ , which still makes him nervous no matter how many times she swears up and down that they’re all nerds and she could kick all of their asses - he heads over to the high school. 

Harrington is waiting for him at his locker. “Good morning, amigo,” Billy teases and opens his locker. He turns his phone on silent and shoves it on the little shelf in his locker as he grabs his books. They aren’t supposed to have their phones on school property. It’s a fucking stupid rule that no one follows, but he at  _ least _ leaves it in his locker until lunch. Trying to be better, and all that shit. 

“What was last night about?” Harrington demands, crossing his arms. He looks so fucking  _ cute _ in his Nike shirt and jeans, and Billy hates himself for it. 

“Whatcha talking about?”

Steve rolls his eyes. Billy closes his locker and leans up against it, messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell,” Billy responds, leaning his head against the locker door and smiling mockingly. “Speaking of which…” he points up at the ceiling. Steve’s eyes dart up and then he’s got this dopey, confused look on his face. It makes something twist in Billy’s chest. The bell rings loudly and Steve rolls his eyes in realization. “Oh,  _ too bad _ , time for class. Guess we gotta cut this conversation short,” Billy bites and walks away. As soon as Steve can’t see his face anymore he drops his facade and tries not to break out into a stupid grin. 

Steve’s talked to him more in the past couple of days than all of the other days combined. It feels dumb good. 

* * *

At lunch, Billy has to eat alone. Tommy’s at the other lunch period and he doesn’t really have anyone else to sit with. It doesn’t matter. He sneaks his phone under the table and looks at Instagram while he eats his turkey sandwich. He’s startled by the noise of a plastic tray hitting the table. 

When he looks up, Harrington is looming over him. “Tell me why you took a screenshot of that Snap.”

“Wow,  _ rude _ ,” he quips, noting the irony of calling out rudeness with a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “You aren’t even gonna say hi to me first?”

“Shut up,” Steve responds instantly. He’s not amused, apparently. “Tell me why you took that screenshot.” 

“For your  _ information _ , Harrington, it was a mistake.”

“A mistake.” 

“Yeah,” Billy shrugs, like it’s no big deal even though it’s  _ absolutely _ a big deal. He’s lying through his teeth and has no real plan. “I fell asleep and accidentally took the screenshot.”

Steve actually laughs in his face, a short bark of a laugh. “You accidentally took a screenshot. Man… That’s. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“It’s true!” Billy defends. “I must’ve rolled over on my phone and pressed the buttons.”

“You fell asleep, rolled over on your phone, and pressed the volume and lock buttons just as I sent a selfie.”

“Yup,” his mouth pops on the p and he takes a nonchalant bite of his sandwich. 

“How lucky for you,” Steve drawls sarcastically and sits down across from him, digging into his meatloaf. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m  _ eating lunch _ ,” Steve says simply, as though it isn’t a new thing. “Is that illegal now?”

Billy shakes his head and leans back in his chair. God, what a fucking day. 

* * *

That night, Steve snaps him first. He’s lying in bed, listening to a true crime podcast. His phone pings at 1:05 AM. 

Steve:  _ awake? _

He waits a minute before typing back. Doesn’t want to seem too desperate to talk to Harrington, even though he definitely is. He rolls on his back and squints at the bright light of the phone.  _ yeah whats up? _

Steve: _bored_ _and cant sleep_

Billy sends him a meme he’s got saved on his phone about Keanu Reeves being immortal. Steve sends back a solid THIRTEEN cry-laughing emojis, and Billy really doesn’t think it was that funny of a meme, but he’ll take it. 

Somehow, Snapchatting at night becomes a thing. And so does eating lunch together. Maybe they’re approaching  _ friendship _ . Steve sends him stupid Bitmojis and Billy sends stupid memes. This goes on for days until there’s a little yellow heart near Steve’s name on Snapchat and  _ apparently _ they are best friends now, at least according to this stupid app. 

One night, after taking screenshots of a couple of Steve’s Instagram photos, he taps his gallery and starts a new album. He just calls it “S 💖” and adds the screenshot of that first Snap along with the Instagram pictures to it. His chest is tight as he does it, but he smiles as he looks at Steve’s face. Realization hits him hard.  _ Shit. _ He’s got it bad. 

* * *

On Friday he corners Tommy in the hallway and demands to know where he can buy some weed. “Well,” Tommy starts, hands in his pockets. Billy kind of wants to punch his freckled face, but figures the best way to handle this is with mock-kindness and maybe the slightest bit of threat. “I’ve got a cookie in my locker, but I was saving that for this weekend.”

Billy shoves a twenty dollar bill at him. “I’ll take it.”

“It isn’t  _ for sale _ , Hargrove,” Tommy laughs. Billy grits his teeth. “Also, 20 bucks? What a lowball.” 

“I said,” Billy grits through clenched teeth, stepping a little closer. “I’ll  _ take it _ .” 

Tommy hands over the cookie, wrapped in aluminum foil, without any hesitation. 

He eats the cookie - which actually tastes pretty good,  _ thanks Tommy _ \- at 11 PM and by 12:15 he’s feeling it. His limbs are all numb and suddenly the Last Podcast on the Left is extraordinarily funny, and as they joke about an alien abduction story he has to bite back giggles. 

Steve sends him a link on Snapchat.  _ dont read any of the tweets in reply to this one! just watch this ad and guess what its for _

He pauses his podcast and taps the link, watches the video unfold of this kid being born and going through life and he’s high as fuck and trying to guess what it’s an ad for. Maybe life insurance, or lotion, or something stupid like that. And then it’s revealed it’s an ad for SUBWAY and his mouth is hanging wide open in shock. 

He frantically chats:  _ SUBWAYYYY!!! ??!?  _

Steve sends back his Bitmoji laughing. 

He keeps his mouth open in shock and snaps a picture. His eyes are red as shit and he captions it  _ eat fresh?????  _

Steve screenshots his snap. Is he that fucking high? Is he imagining all of this? Did Harrington just screenshot a picture of him? It’s like a fever dream. He types:  _ you took a screenshot! !!1 ! _

Steve is typing.  _ your high as fuck.  _

Billy types back.  _ you may be right about that one pretty boy _ .  _ whyd you take a screenshot??? _

Steve:  _ if you can take one than so can i  _

Billy’s cheeks flush. He taps play on his podcast. He’s got a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

Steve:  _ i’m gonna send you a selfie and u can screenshot it if you want to _

Steve sends the picture, and he’s propped up in bed, smiling with what looks like something approaching fondness. Billy slowly blinks at the screen. Wow, this cookie really was something. 

Steve’s captioned it with  _ ur crazy _ . Billy takes a screenshot as fast as he can, doesn’t want to risk losing the picture. 

He’s high. God, he’s so fucking high. So high that he goes to the AppStore and downloads Bitmoji. Creates a little character for himself, with long blonde hair and a tiny plaid shirt and beanie. Sends Steve one, with their two cartoons standing behind giant box letters that say “LIT”. He giggles madly at it and sinks further into his stupid, uncomfortable bed. The podcast plays on, but he’s really absorbed none of it. 

Steve chats back  _ you finally got bitmoji 🎉 omg you really must be high 😂  _

And then Steve sends a Bitmoji too. It’s their two characters holding up a pizza box. Only the pizza is  _ heart shaped _ and Billy feels like his own heart has dropped down his stomach and out of his ass. His eyes are wide as he takes a screenshot of their chat and puts it into his “S 💖” album. 

Sleep comes easily that night. 

  
  



	3. 3

“God, this fucking pomade sucks,” Steve whines, picking at his chicken chow mein with a scowl. Billy leans back in his seat, smiling at him. It’s amusing to watch Steve constantly push stray hairs away from his face. 

His hair is normally perfectly styled, not one hair out of place, but whatever product he’s used does not seem to work because some of the longer hair on the top of his head is hanging into his forehead and sticking up in the back. He’s wearing a baggy Stussy hoodie and Billy’s trying not to stare. He’s failing. 

“Why’d you buy it then?” he asks, tucking his own hair behind his ear and taking a bite of his apple. 

“I had a gift card to Target,” Steve laments. “And this shit was there and it said it was strong-holding matte and… It is  _ not _ strong-holding.” Billy bites his bottom lip and tries his hardest not to laugh. “It’s not funny, you ass!” Steve asserts but there’s a trace of a smile on his face. 

Billy glances at one of the teachers on lunch duty and as soon as they have turned away he grabs his phone and takes a quick Snap of Steve looking at him all  _ outraged _ . He captions it  _ target pomade _ 😢 and posts it to his story. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” Steve asks, wide eyed as he takes a sip of his milk. 

“Check my story.” 

Steve eyes the teachers and then checks his phone under the table. He looks up at Billy and squints. “Fuck off,” he deadpans, and there’s not a trace of malice there. Billy smiles back, a real smile that touches his eyes, and Steve gives him one in return. 

He not-so-subtly raises his phone and snaps a picture of Billy. “What the fuck, Harrington?” he questions, laughing. “People are gonna know I actually  _ smile _ .”

Steve shakes his head and taps away at his phone. “Nah. I’m not posting this to my story.” Billy’s phone buzzes and Steve’s sent him the picture. He’s laughing in it, and he looks genuinely  _ happy _ , his eyes bright and his smile wide. And Steve has captioned it with just 😍.

He’s only somewhat aware of one of the teachers yelling at them to put their phones away. 

He takes a screenshot and adds the picture to the “S 💖” album, his heart hammering in his chest. 

* * *

Of course, things are looking up a little too much. Billy’s gotten so used to the little bubble that he and Steve have created. He forgets that he’s a fuck up. He forgets that he doesn’t  _ get _ to just casually flirt with a cute boy. He doesn’t get to do that. 

It’s a Saturday morning and Steve’s still asleep. He’s sent him three selfies in a row, pictures of him pouting with assorted filters, with captions begging him to  _ wake up already pretty boy _ and lamenting  _ i’m bored as fuck!!  _

He wanders out into the living room and his dad is sitting on the couch watching the news. “Give me your phone, son,” Neil says calmly, holding out his hand. Billy can’t breathe. His hands shake and he wants to shout  _ I’m 18 you can’t just take my phone _ but he can’t. He’s wondering why his dad even wants to see his phone, wondering what he did now. He’s been good lately. He’s been  _ trying _ . 

He can’t afford to get in a fight right now. He doesn’t have the fortitude to deal with a beating, not when it’s been a whole month since the last one and he’s riding the high that is friendship with Steve Harrington. 

His heart sinks and he starts to spiral. His dad is going to fucking poke around in his phone. He’s going to tap his gallery and see his album filled with screenshots of Steve’s selfies and candids of Steve at school. He’ll find the Dollify cartoons that Steve made of them. He’s gonna find all the drunken selfies they took at Tracy’s party last week. His heart hammers in his chest.  _ We aren’t together _ he plans to say, because they aren’t. They haven’t done anything.  _ I’m not gay _ , he’ll insist, even though they both will know he’s lying, based on the sheer amount of heart emojis all over these pictures. 

He unlocks it and hands over the phone wordlessly and starts to sing in his head, trying to drown out the horrible fucking thoughts that are bubbling up. He watches in panic, moving his hair behind his ear as his dad takes the phone. 

And then his dad just. Taps the phone icon. And dials Susan’s number. “Hey, Sue,” he says to her voicemail. “Something’s going on with my cell phone. I just wanted to let you know. If you need anything, call Billy.” He hangs up the phone and hands it back to Billy. 

Billy feels like he’s going to vomit. He grabs the phone and his dad just looks at him with a confused expression. “Something wrong, son?” he asks, and there’s something underlying there. An unspoken warning - his behavior is shady as fuck right now, and now his dad is in full suspicion mode. 

He shakes his head and wills himself to speak with a steady voice. “Nothings wrong,” he says. His stomach is in knots. “Just sucks that your phone isn’t working.” 

His dad’s expression is unreadable. “Yeah. I’ll have to take it to the Apple store later.” 

“Well,” Billy says, trying to be casual. “Hopefully it’s nothing expensive. Hope you don’t have to replace it or anything.” 

“Right.” Neil gives him one last  _ look _ and then turns back toward the television. 

Billy walks back to his bedroom as slow as he can. He shuts the door quietly and sits on his bed, willing his breaths to be even and steady. Tears prick at his eyes and his hands shake horribly. He plugs in his headphones and blasts The Beach Boys as loud as he can stand it, trying to drown out the noise in his head with his mom’s favorite band. Maybe Pet Sounds will make him feel better. But  _ Wouldn’t It Be Nice _ is a little too close to home, and he can’t stop thinking about how just how close of a call he had. 

He can’t afford to be all lovey dovey and shit with Steve. Not anymore. Neil Hargrove doesn’t like gay people. He’s made that abundantly clear through the years. And if he treats Billy like this thinking he’s straight… Billy can’t help but wonder how he’d treat him if he found out he really  _ was _ gay. 

He can’t risk it. The tears are flowing now, pouring down his cheeks. He’s always been too fucking emotional. He cries so easily - when he’s mad, when he’s upset, sometimes even when he’s happy. It’s something that his mom used to praise him for, called him a sensitive soul. His dad’s always judged him for it. Especially when he can’t help but cry when being yelled at or slapped around. 

He’s crying now in full force. The Beach Boys play on, and he thought it would help but it  _ doesn’t _ . It just makes him wish that it would have been his dad who died and not his mom, which is a wicked, cruel thought but he can’t help it. Maybe then he’d actually be allowed to be happy for once in his fucking life. 

He rips the headphones out. All that he’s left with is the silence in the room. It’s not better, but it isn’t worse either. He taps his gallery and looks at his Steve album. So many pictures. So many memories of the past few weeks of friendship. But he can’t risk his dad seeing something like this. He can’t risk it ever again. 

His finger hovers over the trash icon. He takes a deep breath and taps it, tries not to lose his shit as the album is deleted and all of his memories are  _ gone _ . 

Snapchat sends him a notification. Steve has taken screenshots of all the selfies he had sent this morning. He’s sent him a picture in reply. 

  
Billy can’t even open it. The tears come harder, then. 

* * *

On Monday, Billy does his best to avoid Steve until lunch, and Steve sits down across from him, looks at him with concern. “Why didn’t you respond to me this weekend? I was worried something was wrong.” 

“Nothings wrong, Harrington,” Billy spits and plays with his food. He can’t bear to look at the crestfallen look in his eyes. 

“Well…” Steve fiddles with the collar of his button down. It’s got little corgis all over it. It's different for him. Almost seems like he dressed up.

Maybe in a different universe Billy would be able to compliment him on it. But he can’t risk it. “My parents are going on a little business trip this weekend. I was hoping maybe you could come over? We could drink a little and just watch a movie?” Steve looks so hopeful, his doe eyes all big and round. Billy’s heart sinks. 

It sounds like a date. He wants to say  _ yes _ . He wants to go to Steve’s house and drink and watch stupid movies and kiss him silly. But he can’t. Panic settles in hard. He can’t let this happen. 

“Yeah, no thanks, Harrington,” he grits, and it sounds  _ mean _ . Legitimately mean. He hasn’t sounded like this in a long time. Steve’s eyes widen. Billy stands up and grabs his lunch. 

“Well fuck you too then,  _ Hargrove _ ,” Steve spits out and fixes a hard glare at him. Billy just stares at one of the little corgis on his button down before walking away wordlessly. He tries to eat the rest of his lunch in the library, but he really isn’t hungry anymore. 

Steve doesn’t Snapchat him that night. Billy sure as hell doesn’t Snapchat him  _ either _ . He listens to Lo-Fi. He rolls around in bed. He barely sleeps. 

That continues on. No more late night messages, no more Bitmojis. No more heart eyes or laughing crying faces or anything that he’s gotten so fucking used to. 

Instead all he can do is fuck around on his phone, avoiding anything and everything that reminds him of Steve. Not much doesn’t these days. 

* * *

On Thursday it’s painfully obvious that he hasn’t been sleeping very well. Heavy bags have set in and his eyes are all bloodshot, and he cares so fucking little that he tosses his hair up in a bun and throws on a black baseball cap just so no one can fucking  _ see _ him. 

It’s bad enough that even Neil notices at breakfast. “You aren’t sleeping,” he says. His dad has the unique ability to make everything sound like an accusation. Max watches on, eyes darting between them as she eats her Cap’n Crunch. “Maybe if you put that damn phone down for two seconds you’d be able to sleep.”

He sighs and drinks some coffee. “You’re right, dad,” he relents and Max practically chokes on her cereal. Neil fixes her a hard stare. 

* * *

When he and Max get in his car, an old Camaro that he’d bought for next to nothing and fixed up, he doesn’t bother turning on the radio. Max stares at him suspiciously and then looks back at her phone. She’s playing fucking  _ Panda Pop _ . “No music?” she asks, staring at her phone. 

Billy shrugs and gestures toward the radio. “Sorry. Just… put whatever you want on.” 

“What the hell is going on with you?” she asks, turning to look at him again. His hands clench on the steering wheel. He doesn’t want to go there. He can’t fucking go there, not today. 

“Fuck off, Maxine,” he mutters and she makes a face. He can see it in his peripheral. He runs a stop sign.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Billy!” she shouts. “You just ran a stop sign!”

“Shut up. If you don’t like my driving, then you can walk to school.” 

She’s silent for a moment. And then she takes a deep breath and asks, “Is this about Steve?”

“What the hell do  _ you _ know about Steve?”

She rolls her eyes. He tries not to throw a fit. “I know that you two are friends or whatever. And Dustin said Steve’s been moping since Monday.  _ You’ve _ been moping since Monday. I just connected the dots.” 

Billy stays silent. That’s probably enough of an answer. 

“Listen, don’t get mad, okay?” Max pleads. He takes a deep breath and tries not to. “If this is about Neil… You’re 18, Billy. He can’t keep you under his thumb for much longer.”

“You don’t know shit, Max,” he insists, pulling into the middle school parking lot. “You don’t know what it’s like growing up with him for a dad.” 

She doesn’t move to leave. She’s probably gonna be late. He sure as hell will be. “You’re right. I don’t. But I do know that if you’re afraid to live your life, then he’s won.” He doesn’t look at her. She sighs and leaves the car, and he watches her walk into the school. 

Maybe she’s right. Maybe Neil  _ has _ won. 

He sits in the parking lot for God knows how long, thinking about what she’s said. Neil has won in his life for so long. Maybe it’s time to just say  _ fuck it. _ Maybe it’s time to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it’s time to live his life the way he wants to, regardless of the consequences. 

Maybe it’s time to let himself be happy for once. 

No one tells him what to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear that victims of abuse are in no way obligated to “let themselves be happy” or whatever so their abusers don’t “win”. Just this specific version of Billy needs to get brave and psych himself up in this moment. And Max is 13 and she’s trying. 
> 
> one more chapter after this!


	4. 4

Billy does a lot of thinking. Listens to an excessive amount of Lo-Fi. Stares at Steve’s Instagram page. And then he thinks - fuck it. He wanders out to the kitchen at 3 in the morning and pours himself a small glass of some random ass liquor bottle they have in the back of a cabinet that no one even thinks about. Fuck. It. 

He brings it back to his room and takes a giant swig. He coughs. It tastes like fucking paint thinner. It doesn’t matter, because it makes his head foggy and his limbs heavy. It makes thinking a little easier. 

He lays on his bed, on his stomach, feet kicked up in the air and hair splaying around his head. He’s fucking around on GoogleMaps, looking at all the places he used to go in San Diego. He looks at his house on street view. He looks at his old school and the mall that he’d see movies at with his friends. He looks at the cemetery where is mom is buried. 

He tries, in his drunken stupor, to think of what his mom would say to him at a time like this. She’d probably call him baby boy and brush his hair back and touch his forehead with a cool palm. She’d probably tell him  _ not to worry _ , and that everything would work out with Steve. 

He thinks about how his dad would react if he found out he had a thing for another guy. He wouldn’t be happy. That’s for damn sure. And it would certainly bring Billy misery. Lots and lots of misery.

But… He’s miserable  _ now _ , keeping away from Steve like this. He’s miserable hiding away this part of himself. He’s miserable pretending that he doesn’t give a fuck about Steve. 

He finishes the glass and is well and truly fucked up. He listens to that stupid Beach Boys album again, even though he knows it’s gonna sting to hear it and think about his mom. 

He lies back in bed, staring at the ceiling while Brian Wilson sings loudly in his ears. 

Fuck it, he thinks. It’s probably the booze talking. 

But if he’s gonna be miserable because of his dad, he might as well get what he wants in the process. 

* * *

The next day at lunch he’s still a little hungover and is trying to steel his nerves.

He makes sad eyes at Steve from across the room and gives him a little come hither gesture. Steve crosses his arms and cocks his head at him, like he’s appraising him, but then he visibly sighs and walks over. Billy tries to calm himself down. Breathe in. Breathe out. He should have used that dumb Headspace app that Max snuck onto his phone.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, and his expression is guarded. Billy deserves that. He knows he does. 

He makes a guilty face, all over exaggerated, and slides a package of RingDings across the table. Steve seems to be fighting back a smile. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Billy huffs out. Steve looks a little surprised to actually hear the words. “My dad is… kind of a dick. And so sometimes I am  _ also _ a dick.” 

Steve laughs and shakes his head, sitting down across from him. “You’re  _ always _ a dick.” He says it so fondly that Billy feels a wide smile stretch across his face. 

“I know,” he laughs. “I really am sorry though. I’ve just been so afraid, you know? About… this.” He makes a weak gesture between them. Steve nods in understanding. “And if the offer still stands… I’d  _ really _ like to come over this weekend.”

Steve smiles and opens the little package. He takes one and then slides the package back over to Billy, letting him have the other. God, Steve Harrington is a dream, in his Adidas sweatshirt and with his fuckboy hair and his goofy smile. “The offer still stands,” he says simply, taking a bite of his RingDing.

* * *

Billy shows up to Steve’s house the next night at 5, armed with two Chipotle bowls. He’s wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off and tight black jeans. In the car before he grabbed the food - in the fucking Chipotle parking lot - he braided one lock of hair on the side of his head and pulled the entire mass of curls back into a loose bun. He looks like a Viking or something.

God, he feels like such a girl.

Steve smiles widely at him when he answers the door, and he pulls him into a loose hug. That’s  _ new _ , but nice, and Billy breathes him in, hugging him with his free arm. 

“I brought food,” he says and holds up the Chipotle bag. 

“Oh my gawwddd,” Steve drawls out, in a perfect mockery of that kid from Vine. “I love Chipotleeee. Chipotle is my liiiiife.”

Billy laughs despite himself. He takes in the expanse of Steve’s house, eyes widening at the two story living room and the massive leather sectional in front of an equally massive television. Steve just casually plops himself on the couch and makes gimme hands for the Chipotle. Billy chuckles and hands him his bowl and then opens his own, starts digging in. 

Steve turns the TV on and flips through the channel guide. “Ooh!” he exclaims, and Billy looks up from his food to see what he’s selected. It’s the fucking  _ Brady Bunch. _

“Why are you excited for the Brady Bunch?” Billy asks incredulously, taking a big bite of food. 

“Because it’s fucking great,” Steve replies earnestly and begins to eat, too. “Reminds me of my grandma,” he explains. “She used to watch me after school and this was always playing on TV Land. It’s the only thing we both liked.” Billy feels warm and fuzzy inside, so he happily watches the show. 

Bobby and Cindy are lost in the hills or some shit, and Mrs. Brady and Greg and what’s-her-name (it’s been a  _ long _ time since he’s seen this shit) are calling for them. 

“Jesus, Bobby,” Billy shouts at the TV, like he’s watching sports and not the goddamn Brady Bunch. “What the fuck, Bobby!” he yells with a mouthful of barbacoa. Steve looks over and him and laughs. “What?” Billy questions. Steve’s looking at him with this weird expression. “What’s up?”

“You’re just…” Steve trails off, biting his bottom lip. “You’re really cute.” 

Billy’s eyebrows fly up to his forehead. “Cute?” 

“Yes. So fucking cute,” Steve breathes out and then resumes his food, like he didn’t just say that out loud. It’s one thing to flirt through text or Snapchat or whatever. But hearing Steve Harrington - in the flesh - telling him he’s cute? To watch as Steve Harrington sits crossed legged on his couch, eats Chipotle, and tells him that he’s  _ cute _ ? 

It’s too much. He’s too happy. His heart may just explode. Too much happiness for one boy to take. 

They finish their food and the Brady Bunch episode plays out. Steve looks over at him with those big doe eyes and Billy shifts a little closer on the couch. Steve changes the channel to some rock radio station, and Greta Van Fleet plays loudly through the speakers. It’s that one slow, romantic song they play. Billy nods at the TV in approval. 

He turns to Steve to say  _ I like this band _ , but he doesn’t get a chance to, because Steve leans forward and kisses him. He gasps and freezes up slightly, caught totally off guard, but then Steve touches his jaw gently and he melts into the kiss. He edges closer on the sofa and wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, brings him close and breathes him in. His lips are tingling and his nerves are singing. 

Steve sighs against his lips and keeps brushing against him lightly, chastely. Each press of their lips together makes Billy’s head swim and when Steve deepens the kiss, tongue darting out to press into Billy’s mouth, he whimpers low in the back of his throat. Next thing he knows he’s straddling Steve’s hips desperately, his cock swelling in his tight jeans. 

He needs friction. He needs to touch every inch of Steve that he can possibly reach. God, he needs it like air or water. He’s being  _ overdramatic _ . 

He pulls away to take a breath as the Greta Van Fleet song fades out, and then he dives back into the kiss, grinding down on Steve. Steve’s dick is hard, too, and is visibly tenting his track pants. Music becomes inconsequential. 

His hips won’t stop moving of their own accord as they kiss, and he pulls away gasping. He leans down and presses his mouth to Steve’s neck, kissing a beauty mark there. He relishes the fact that Steve tips his head back and moans. Steve’s long fingers clutch at his hips, and his own hips buck up against the friction. 

A flushed, moaning Steve is easily the hottest thing Billy’s ever seen in his entire life. “You are gorgeous,” he breathes before kissing Steve again, and then Steve is pawing at the buttons of his shirt, desperately trying to get it off. Once he eases the plaid off of his shoulders, Steve leans down and begins biting at his chest. Billy gasps and clutches at Steve’s shoulders and the back of his head, pressing him closer. “Fuck,” he breathes, and then he  _ needs _ Steve’s sweatshirt gone. 

He pulls at the hem and when Steve’s gotten rid of his sweatshirt he has to just lean back in his lap and look. They gaze at each other, wide-eyed and out of breath, and all they can do is just  _ stare _ . 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve breathes, just as Billy gasps, “You’re so fucking stunning.” They smile at each other and Billy leans down for another kiss. Steve holds his face in his hands, smiling into this kiss and touching him like he’s the most precious thing. He  _ feels _ like the most precious thing. 

He’s so hard that his head is spinning. He needs Steve so bad. It’s so easy to shove a hand down between them, to rub at Steve’s cock in his pants. Steve’s face pinches up and he groans, and Billy swallows the noise down with a kiss. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows he needs Steve naked  _ immediately _ . He gets up from his lap and bites his lip, staring into Steve’s blown pupils as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down past his hips. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, palming his cock over his pants as he looks at Billy. “Look at you.” 

Billy grabs at the elastic hem of Steve’s pants and tugs them down and then suddenly they’re both naked and awkward and giggling at each other like idiots. 

“C’mere,” Steve murmurs and leans back on the chaise part of the sectional, his long legs stretching out in front of him. His cock is hard and red and leaking between his thighs, and Billy can’t fucking  _ believe  _ that this is all laid out for him. 

He straddles Steve again and leans down for a kiss, groans into his mouth as their cocks brush together. He begins to roll his hips slowly, and their shafts rub against each other. 

Steve sighs, clutching at the nape of Billy’s neck with one hand and grabbing a fistful of his ass with the other. That only spurns Billy on more and he leans back, lines their cocks up. 

He relishes the way Steve’s face is all droopy as he looks at him, his mouth wide open and eyebrows pinched as he watches. Billy spits in his hand and wraps it around both of their cocks, pumping them both at the same time while twitching his hips forward and back. Steve goes absolutely nuts underneath him, letting out these little punched-out groans and clawing at Billy’s hips and thighs. 

Steve thrusts up into Billy’s palm, and with the friction of his own hand combined with the feeling of Steve’s dick sliding against his own, Billy’s getting flung toward the edge embarrassingly quickly. His cheeks are hot, and his thighs are quivering, and when a bead of precum spills out of the tip of Steve’s cock he brushes at it and uses it as slick. 

“Jesus fucking…  _ Shit _ ,” Steve groans, reaching up and pinching one of Billy’s nipples. His hips stutter and he gasps. “You look so fucking amazing, Billy,” Steve breathes, and Billy’s thighs shake even harder. He’s getting closer and closer, and he needs Steve to go along with him. 

“I’m…  _ Steve _ ,” he breathes, tightening his grip around their cocks and stroking just a touch faster, thrusting his hips just a tad sharper. “I’m so fucking close,” he admits, and his lips are so dry. He licks at them and Steve follows the movement with his eyes. 

“ _ Yes,” _ Steve gasps and continues to touch Billy’s nipples. “Come. Please. I’m close, too.  _ Billy _ ,” he groans out Billy’s name and that’s enough to send Billy over the edge. He tips his head back with a howl and his thighs quake and his muscles are tensing and contracting and it’s so fucking good he can’t help but laugh as he spirals down. 

Steve’s staring with his mouth open wide and when Billy uses his own cum to lube up, pumping Steve’s cock fast and hard, he becomes unhinged, shouting and throwing his head up, back arching as he spills into Billy’s palm. 

Billy pants hard and Steve looks up at him in awe. “Christ,” Billy laughs, and leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve kisses him back softly, and then they grab tissues and hand sanitizer from the coffee table and clean up as best as then can, laughing like fucking idiots the entire time. 

They lean back in the corner of the couch, Steve’s arm around Billy’s shoulder. 

After all of that, it’s still fucking exhilirating to cuddle close with Steve like this. Billy reaches for his phone on the coffee table. He opens up Snapchat and switches it to the front facing camera, resting his head against Steve’s. He puts a stupid fucking dog filter on the both of them, and they’re smiling like dorks. 

Steve kisses his temple once the photo is taken. And Billy takes a deep breath, opens his gallery, and makes a new album. “B + S 💖” he calls it, and he puts the Snap in there. 

Steve smiles widely and pulls him in for a kiss. “Cute,” he breathes against Billy’s lips, and then suddenly Billy is straddling his hips again, and they’re kissing deeper, and Billy’s phone may or may not get lost in the couch cushions somewhere, but neither of them can be fucked to care. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The greta van fleet song they listen to is called You're The One and it's really sweet
> 
> Thank you for reading! Lemme know what you think!


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